


Go Team 'Venger

by loftyperch



Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012), The Avengers - All Fandoms, Venture Bros
Genre: Angst, Crossover, M/M, Pre-Slash, Slash, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-25
Updated: 2012-11-16
Packaged: 2017-11-12 21:24:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/495796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loftyperch/pseuds/loftyperch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Avengers are disbanded, and it's up to Tony to bring them home. Angst and hilarity ensue.</p><p>Sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/307316/chapters/491528">Natural Arches</a>.</p><p>Set somewhere in the middle of Venture Season 4.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Way more characters, wisecracks and plot to come. This is more of a prologue than anything else.
> 
> I own none of the characters below. I will not profit from their use, I promise.

_Today's the day_ , thought Steve on a beautiful Sunday afternoon, carefully positioning himself at one end of the couch and tuning in to a Mythbusters marathon.

It had been over a year since the night a very astute henchman had pointed out how he felt about Tony Stark. It had been a year spent confirming the truth of those feelings, carefully considering the possbile consequences of those feelings, and eventually deciding that those feelings had to be verbally acknowledged.

The confirmation had been the easiest part. Once the initial shock of finding out what his heart had gotten up to behind his back wore off, Steve was left with no doubts that he was _emotionally_ in love with Tony. What he had briefly worried about was the _physical_ side of things. Sure, he and Bucky - God rest him - had fumbled around when they first hit puberty, but that was the extent of his experience with men. 

His worries were allayed, however, by the third time (in one night) he successfully jerked off to thoughts of Tony. It had even gotten to the point of poorly timed hard ons in the locker room - or by the pool when Tony walked past in a black Speedo, sucking on one of those red, white and blue popsicles. Yes, he was _definitely_ attracted to Tony. No conflict in that department.

The consequences were daunting though. If Tony was offended by a romantic advance, it could mean the end of the Avengers' hard-won unit cohesion. It could even mean the end of Iron Man's time on the team. And that wasn't the half of it! What _if _Tony felt the same way? Steve was already jealous when Tony and Bruce locked themselves in the lab for weekends on end. And his infatuation was starting to affect his performance as an Avenger. Just the other week he'd suffered a minor head injury when he paused to admire Iron Man tearing a getaway car in half. Neither of those problems were likely to abate should he start a relationship with Tony.__

He was not unaware that Natasha and Clint managed to maintain a relationship - albeit an odd one - as well as good team dynamics, but the Avengers might not be so accepting of a same-sex romantic entanglement. He pegged most of them as either liberal or entirely indifferent, but he couldn't take that for granted. And what about the rest of the world if the media got wind of it? What about SHIELD? No matter how Tony reacted there would be substantial, irreversible downsides.

But the decision to confess was made a lot easier as soon as he realized that Tony probably _did_ feel the same way. If deep throating that popsicle wasn't enough of a hint there were other things, small smiles and subtle jokes, lingering glances, gifts and invitations and late night conversations. _And he_ did _destroy his own arc reactor to save me that night ..._

Despite Tony's best efforts to convince the world that he felt nothing, he was an open book for anyone with the patience to read him. He wore his heart on his bespoke sleeves and faded concert tees. He was a good man. So good, in fact, that he would never - _ever_ \- be the first to speak up about whatever was going on between them. He'd never place the burden of an unwanted offer upon Steve. 

_So it's up to me. And today's the day._

\-------------------

Tony nearly stumbled out of the elevator into the living room, not entirely sure what time it was. He had left Bruce in the lab, having finally met his match when it came to complete science project submersion. He was exhausted, drained, deflated, and at least three other adjectives he was too tired to come up with. He must be getting old.

Blearily, he took in the all too enticing scene before him: Steve with a pillow in his lap, plenty of room on the couch, Adam and Jamie blowing stuff up on the big screen, and a decanter of brandy on the coffee table.

This was a bad idea. Tony had been on his best behavior for at least a year now, keeping flirting to a bare minimum (except when he was drunk, of course) and conceding fights before they even started (except when he was drunk, of course). Now here was the perfect opportunity to find a way to put his big fat foot in his big fat mouth.

But he was very tired.

If he wasn't careful he could get kicked off the team for sexual harassment. And even if Steve didn't press charges or complain to Fury, Tony would still have to quit out of sheer embarrassment. He thought he'd be strong enough to lose Steve. But to lose four other friends - like his only other four friends in the world - forever in the process? Unacceptable.

But his bed was all the way upstairs.

 _Don't you dare, Stark_ , he fiercely berated himself. Seriously, putting his head in Steve's lap? Recipe for disaster. Asking for trouble. Downright masochistic.

Steve patted the pillow.

Tony couldn't say no.

He collapsed onto the cushions with a groan, wordlessly cursing his own stupidity. He groaned again when Steve ran strong fingers through his hair, massaging the calculations and frustrations of the last thirty hours and the moral dilemma of the last few seconds right out of his head.

"I may fall asleep on you," he warned, already losing the battle with his eyelids.

"Okay, but you're gonna miss them blowing up the cement truck."

\--------------

Hours later, Tony jerked awake. He blinked in the rosy light of sunset, rubbing at the gunk in his eyes and remembering too late his hands were covered in motor oil and metal filings.

It took him another minute or two to remember where he was.

"Oh God, I was drooling, wasn't I?"

"And snoring." Steve grinned down at him, one of his hands resting protectively on the arc reactor, the other still sifting gently through Tony's hair, however greasy it was.

"I didn't ... _say_ anything, did I?" Tony was already blushing, too chicken to look down and see how much of a tent he was pitching in his jeans.

"Why, what were you dreaming about?"

"Nothing," Tony lied, a tad hastily. He attempted to sit up, but Steve held him down with a firm press on his chest.

"Hold on." Steve was still smiling, but he took a deep breath, eyes losing their focus for a moment. "There's something I have to tell you."

 _Don't get your hopes up. Don't get your hopes up. Don't get your hopes up_ , Tony chanted, suddenly very, very awake.

"I'm all ears, Cap."

"Do you remember that night we fought those Guild guys?"

"How could I forget?" How indeed? Tony recalled that particular adventure in almost nightmarish detail - with equal parts embarrassment at having unnecessarily tried to martyr himself, pride at having taken out a control room full of henchmen without his armor, and schoolgirlish glee at having been rescued and subsequently embraced by Steve. It was the night he had confessed his love for the super soldier to a complete stranger who also happened to be a super villain. It was the night he'd gotten a brand new heart, handmade by the object of his affection. It had been, on the whole, the most memorable night of his life.

"Well, remember I met that henchman, Number 21?"

"Yeah, the fanboy." The one who'd thought to bring a spare reactor - Tony owed that man a serious debt of gratitude.

"Well he and I had a chance to talk ... and he made me realize something. I've been thinking about it ever since ..."

_Don't get your hopes up._

"Tony ... I -"

"Forgive the interruption, Captain, but Director Fury is at the front door requesting a sit down with the team," announced JARVIS from somewhere above them.

"I'll tell you later."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "There is no good news, just bad news and weird news."  
> -Hunter Gathers
> 
> I promise this will eventually be a funny fic.

Steve gnashed his teeth, letting Tony sit up. What was that word Clint always used in this situation? Cockblocked?

It wasn't fair to be angry with JARVIS or Fury. How could they possibly have known how long it had taken him to work up the courage to say what he'd just been about to say? But he was angry all the same. He couldn't say _anything_ now. If Fury was making a mansion call then something Big and Important had happened, and it wouldn't do to go into such a potentially serious meeting with _feelings_ hanging over their heads.

With a grumble, he turned off the TV while Tony poured a glass of the brandy.

Everyone assembled in the living room at JARVIS' summons, barely getting a chance to greet each other before Fury himself swept in from the hallway.

"The Avengers initiative is over," he snapped without preamble or pregnant pause, good eye unresponsive to the gasps and indignant protestations he'd unleashed. "Your contracts have been sold to other agencies. Turn in your communicators and any other SHIELD property and pack your bags. You ship out in two hours."

Steve's anger evaporated as Fury's words sunk in, replaced by mindnumbing, extremity-tingling shock. Everyone else must have been feeling the same way because the room went deadly quiet, the silence broken only after an excruciating moment by Thor.

"But we've become as one in battle!" he bellowed. "You cannot disband us now!"

"It's too late. It's been done. Now get to it."

"Screw you, Fury," argued Tony, finally finding his voice. "You can take their comms and shit, but this is _my_ house. They can stay here as long as they like."

"Not if they're all working on the west coast as of tomorrow morning."

Tony threw Steve a distinct back-me-up-here-dude glare.

"But sir," Steve tried, thoughts still snagging on _this can't be happening_ , "why?" The mansion was the only home he had in this time, the Avengers his only friends. He honestly didn't think he could start all over again now that he'd finally found a place to belong. Not now that he had such a very good reason to stay ...

"There is no 'why,' Rogers. This decision was made over my head. Believe me, I fought for you. I'm as devastated as you are, but there are some fights you just can't win." Fury pulled a stack of thick manilla envelopes from his coat and dropped them unceremoniously on the coffee table. "Your new assignments." 

Then he left as abruptly as he'd come.

"Fuck." Tony drained his brandy and promptly poured another. 

_This can't be happening._

Operating on pure reflex, Steve pulled his envelope from the scattered stack. Everyone but Tony did the same.

"You guys aren't actually _going_ , are you?" Tony cried, reeling.

No one answered him.

"I can't believe this! I thought we were a team, amigos, compadres, let no man put asunder, till death do us part!"

Steve just stared at his envelope, letting Tony take over the inspirational leadership duties for the moment, avoiding the wounded brown eyes he knew he'd find if he looked up. There was just nothing he could say. Nothing he could do but silently deny this was even happening.

"Bruce, tell me you wanna stay," Tony pleaded.

"I want to stay, Tony, believe me I do ... but am I really such an asset to the team? I probably do more damage than I prevent when I try to save the world."

"Steve?"

"I ..." _This can't be happening._

"Fine. Quit then." Trading his glass for the whole decanter, Tony stormed out.

Darkness had descended as the sun sank below the skyline, but no one moved to turn on a light. Steve's envelope wasn't going anywhere, staring right back at him, just as somber and lifeless as he was. His friends filed out of the room, unhappy but stoic while he sat frozen, trying to stop dwelling on _No more Avengers. No more Tony._

By the time Steve rose to follow, half his time to prepare had passed.

Somehow he found himself in his room, packing his bag like a man dead, slinging on his shield and tossing his comm on the dresser. He couldn't - not yet anway - bring himself to contemplate making a whole new set of quirky friends to watch movies and eat pizza with after saving the world from annihilation. Couldn't yet imagine once more trusting strangers with his life. 

He was almost due back in the living room to be whisked away to some new life, probably even weirder than the one he had come to enjoy so much ... or worse, more mundane. But his feet took him away from the staircase, down the hall to Tony's room. He knocked and let himself in, finding the interior dark but for the the arc reactor and the moonlight.

"So you're really leaving me, huh?" Tony asked from where he sat crumpled in an ergonomic swivel chair.

_Don't make this any harder for me_ , Steve wanted to scream. _Can't you see this is tearing me apart?_ He could have spilled his guts then and there, he supposed ... but what was the point if they were to be separated for God knew how long? Confessing would only make this night harder for both of them.

"These are orders," he insisted instead, feeling indescribably cowardly. Steve knew in his gut that he was making the wrong decision, but he honestly didn't know what the _right_ decision was. Go rogue and do the vigilante thing with Tony? Quit the hero business altogether in protest? Organize a sit in on the Helicarrier? Write a letter to the editor? The powerlessness weighed hard on his chest and hot on the back of his neck.

"We're a team, Cap."

"We were only a team as long as SHIELD said we were."

Tony didn't respond, letting the absurdity of the statement speak for itself.

"Captain," JARVIS broke in, as annoyingly polite as ever, "the others are waiting for you."

Steve turned to go, head hanging, back stiff.

"I'll miss you, Shellhead," he whispered.

"Whatever."

\----------------------------

"Oh God," Tony moaned, waking up the next morning on the laboratory floor with his worst hangover in many a year. "Why'd I drink so much?"

"Because, sir -"

"That was rhetorical, JARVIS, I remember." Tony peeled himself up off the concrete, head ready to burst like a bubble, stomach ready to turn on him at any moment, his chest tight with a cold knot nestled just behind the arc reactor where he used to get warm, fuzzy we're-such-a-great-team knots. 

He knew there would be no one in the kitchen when he finally dragged himself up there. No Clint to laugh at him or Natasha to frown disapprovingly and slide him a cup of coffee. No Steve to ask if he was all right and bring him a glass of water and some Aspirin.

He tried not to replay the moment Steve walked out on him over and over again, but it flickered behind his eyes nonetheless. 

_I can handle this_ , he told himself, though he didn't quite believe it. _I can handle this_. Even if Steve never came back, never loved - or even liked - him enough to disobey orders, he could handle this. Even if the rest of the team never called or emailed or saved his skin again, he could at least go on living.

"What am I gonna do?" he moaned.

"I would suggest, sir, that you have a BLT then begin the process of finding and retrieving the other former Avengers."

"BLT, yes. Finding and retrieving, no. They're big kids, they can do what they want. I never needed them anyway."

"Of course you didn't, sir."

"Don't take that tone with me, you artificial bastard."

"So sorry. And you may want to make yourself more presentable, sir. Agent Coulson has just entered the mansion."

"Fuck me."

By the time Tony had inched his way onto a stool and run a hand through his - now even greasier - hair, Coulson was striding in, looking like he ought to be directing a very dour funeral somewhere.

"Mr. Stark, you were ordered to report to DARPA this morning. Why aren't you in DC?"

"Because I'm the only Avenger left. _Someone's_ gotta stick around in case the world needs saving. Might as well be yours truly. And seriously, fuck DARPA."

"Glad to hear it."

"Huh?"

"I saw something today in the arts and leisure section that I thought you should know about. The Smithsonian just sold a collection of your father's old letters to an anonymous buyer."

"So?"

"So I don't think it's a coincidence that you were given a devastating emotional blow the night before the news broke. You were meant to be either too distraught or too caught up in Washington to be reading the paper ... It looks like you went with distraught."

Say what he would about Coulson - and he did say it - Tony couldn't call the guy stupid. If his spy-dar was pinging there was probably a good reason.

"The letters were part of a decades long correspondence with Dr. Jonas Venture. If you can lay your hands on the rest of that correspondence, you might just find out what Mr. Anonymous was paying ten million for."

"Thanks for the tip. I'll see what I can find."

"Don't thank me, Stark. Just do what needs to be done."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony plays detective. Steve shows up for work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chap, just trying to inject a little plot into this thing.

Tony stood alone in the first floor hallway for at least ten minutes, bracing himself to do the one thing that could possibly make this day even worse, a small silver key burning a hole in his palm.

Holding back a wave of nausea that had nothing to do with his hangover, he unlocked his father's study for the first time since the funeral and silently, almost reverently, entered.

The room was not musty or mildewed, smelling only of age, disuse and well worn leather chairs. Tony touched nothing on his way to the desk, kept his eyes studiously on the plush carpet. But even without looking, unasked for memories flashed back to him, ugly and out of sequence ... the time he got caught snooping in the study and his father just called the maid, like Tony was some sort of stain ... the time he camped out outside the door and his father tripped on him ... the night he saw his father slumped over the desk sobbing and didn't dare ask what was wrong ...

It was too much for Tony to actually sit at the desk. He was more comfortable - emotionally if not physically - kneeling as he opened each drawer in turn, thumbing aimlessly through the folders and notebooks, completely at a loss as to what heading old letters would be filed under ... _If_ they hadn't already been disposed of. Howard Stark had only ever been sentimental about one man, and it sure as hell wasn't Jonas Venture.

He'd been through nearly every page with nothing to show for it when he picked up a folder labeled 'Operational Research Bureau' and an old sepia photoraph slipped out of it onto the carpet. Tony picked it up and found it was a picture of himself as a baby, being held by a small, freckled boy he recognized as Rusty Venture in front of this very desk.

"Hm." He slipped it in his back pocket and thumbed through the sheaf of papers, finding several handwritten notes on Venture Industries letterhead. There were only a few though, the rest of the papers were dedicated to a series of budget spreadsheets.

Funny though, he couldn't recall there ever being an "Operational Research Bureau" within Stark Industries. 

Confident he had found a good place to start his investigation, Tony stood and crossed the room.

He was almost out the door when a thought struck him and he pulled out the photograph, flipping it over to read the back.

And sure enough there were two lines of his father's strong dark script.

_It's up to Rusty to find it._

_It's up to you to fix it._

"Hm," he said again, looking once more at the desk, then down at the photograph. The desk hadn't changed in the thirty-odd years since the pic was snapped ... except for one little detail, blaring like a neon encrusted casino for anyone familiar with Howard Stark's intense need for an entirely static environment. Somewhere in the couse of Tony's lifetime, someone had removed a spherical silver paperweight from the stack of books beside the lamp. 

An _orb_.

"Real subtle, dad."

\---------------------

"Uh ... I'm here to report for duty. Do I have the right address?" Steve asked the intercom at the gate of a gleaming white, postmodern compound nestled between soaring mountain peaks. He rechecked his transfer orders, just to be sure. This place sure didn't seem like a top secret antiterror militia's headquarters, but he'd followed his instructions correctly.

An exasperated sigh answered him.

"Yes, I'll buzz you in."

Stuck fast between disappointed and confused, Steve stepped through the gates and followed a driveway up to the central building, where a skinny man with not a hair on his head save for a dark red Van Dyke was frowning at him.

"Hi, I'm -" Steve offered a handshake, but the scientist - he assumed scientist since the man wore a speed suit much like many he'd seen on Howard - waved him off.

"I don't care what your name is, they'll probably just erase my memory if you tell me anyway. They're the last building down the left path."

"Uh ... thanks."

This was already weirder than SHIELD had ever been and he hadn't even reached his destination yet.

Steve soon found his way to the warehouse, slinking off in the direction the cranky man had imperiously indicated.

Still feeling like he couldn't possibly be in the right place, still in shock from the night before and running on too few calories and even fewer hours sleep, he knocked on a massive metal door.

"Who is it?" called a gruff voice in immediate response.

"I'm the new guy."

"One second."

With a metalic shriek the door rolled away to reveal the biggest man Steve had ever seen. The guy was six-six if he was a foot with shoulders wide enough to fill the doorway edge to edge and a blond mullet that said 'I do what I want' in no uncertain terms.

"C'mon in."

Steve entered, nodding mutely, to find he was in exactly the right place; vehicles, weapons and long banks of computer consoles took up most of the building's volume ... The rest was devoted to a giant, golden sphynx.

**Author's Note:**

> To be continued


End file.
